


No Plan (love to get done).

by Alexander_Slamilton



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hozier, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religious Conflict, Religious Discussion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, use of song lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 21:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17989127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_Slamilton/pseuds/Alexander_Slamilton
Summary: "Why would you make out of words a cage for your own bird?"Basically Hozier owns my ass.





	No Plan (love to get done).

Hamilton looked at the altar, the chapel was quiet, it was tucked away down a side street in the town they’d decided to headquarter in. The whitewashed walls mocked him, and the figure of Christ in front of him seemed to laugh at him. He was nothing, his God was a distant figure to him, so out of reach, uncaring as cold as the marble of the altar. No candles winked at him from the stand, the candlesticks were tucked away out of sight in the vestry. A shell with no crab inside it, that was how he felt as he looked up into the scratched wooden face of the Saviour. But not his saviour. Not if he would believe what the pastors said when they condemned him to hell. When they condemned people like him to an eternity of suffering. He hadn’t noticed that tears were running down his face, not until he felt them soak into his shirt, they ran down his face, in a steady stream. General Washington had been quite correct, the chapel was beautiful, but he couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in his gut. He leaned his head on the pew in front of him, waiting for everything to make sense again. It did not. 

“Hamilton,” he hadn’t noticed Laurens enter, but he could feel the other man’s hand on his shoulder, a warm steady pressure. 

“Laurens,” Alexander croaked, he didn’t bother lifting his head up from the pew. 

“Hamilton, Alexander, what’re you doing here?” Laurens sighed as he sat down on the pew next to Alexander. 

“Praying,” Alexander answered, pressing against the warmth of Laurens’ legs. 

“Ah, yes, that should have been obvious,” Alexander could hear Laurens’ smile as he spoke the words. There was a pause, a lull in the conversation that wasn’t awkward but was borne by both of them with ease. “Did He answer?” Laurens asked, the hand on Alexander’s shoulder moved to his hair. 

“No,” Alexander muttered. “He did not.” He looked to the Saviour’s face, waiting for a sign, a message one given from the kingdom on high. No such thing came to him. Alexander turned to Laurens, this face was kinder than Christ’s, this face that was framed by straw-blond hair and from which two blue eyes smiled back at him. They were the same blue as the sea around the island he had been born on, but they spoke not of captivity, of being a prisoner to the sea, instead they carried with them all the love Alexander had ever wanted. Laurens, sweet, kind Laurens, held in him everything that Alexander needed; had ever held dear. 

“He never answered me, either,” Laurens’ hand stroked through Alexander’s hair, “everyone always told me that my life was planned by Him, that everything was going according to this plan, but if that is so then why would He plan for me to be as I am?” 

“You are perfect, dear Laurens,” Alexander looked up at his friend. 

“I am not,” Laurens shook his head, an undeniable sadness in his eyes as he too looked into the face of the saviour. “Come, come with me,” Laurens took Alexander’s hand and dragged him from his knees. 

They walked through the town, through their encampment and into the woods on the other side. The sun was fading, it was getting late, but neither cared; Alexander and Laurens walked side by side, enjoying the way the leaves crunched under their boots. The fading light made the world golden, the sun streaming through the trees in the thicket, making even the barest of wood turn to pure gold. Alexander thought, even in his years, he had never seen anything as beautiful in, that moment, not even the riches of the places he had been brought into by his General. They stopped in a clearing, where the leaves made a blanket that lay on top of the earth below them, Laurens sat, Alexander next to him. Close enough to feel each other’s heat through their clothes. 

“There’s no plan, is there?” Alexander asked, laying his head on Laurens’ shoulder, “that plan you talked about. It doesn’t exist?” 

“No,” Laurens said, “it does not. But you cannot let that rule your life, you cannot give your pain a name because if you do, you let it rule you. We are momentary beings. Here one minute, gone the next. We must live in, that moment. In the brief space of time, we are given.” 

“My pain,” Alexander mumbled into Laurens’ shoulder. 

“Whatever pain was making you cry in that chapel,” Laurens did not look at him, instead he looked out to the fading light, the last gasps of the day. “I do not care to know it, but, Alexander there’s no race to run in this life, you must live it.” 

“There is always a race.” Alexander sighed, “there is always a race to win or lose.” 

“No, there isn’t, do not cage your own bird, my boy,” Laurens looked at him then, blue eyes filled with a fury Alexander had only seen on the battlefield. “Do not waste your time here.” 

“How can I not? If there is no plan?” Alexander implored his friend to impart with him the secrets he felt had been withheld from him. 

“There is no one way to be happy in this life, my, Alexander,” Laurens whispered, “everything has an ending, so why not just live and be happy in the now?”

“Thy kingdom come,” Alexander looked into Laurens’ eyes, seeing almost the heaven that had been promised him in them. 

“There’s no hand on the rein,” Laurens smiled again, looking every bit the angel haloed in the halcyon glow. 

“I… there is truly no one in control,” Alexander realised it all in one fell swoop. He felt everything rush at him like a tide. “I have lived my life believing in a plan, a tightly regimented path that I could ne’er stray from,” he turned so that he was facing Laurens, he was sitting cradled in the other man’s thighs, his legs under Laurens’. “I knew only shame for who I am, only a burning hatred, as prescribed in the teachings which I subscribed to. Now I am made new, I understand.” He smiled, wide so much so that it almost hurt his cheeks. 

“There is no one in control, I would not lie,” Laurens shook his head, laughing at Alexander’s smile. “Your turmoil is over,” he said, “I can go if you wish.” 

“I do not,” Alexander took Laurens’ hand in his own, turning it over, looking at the callouses that had formed in the last few months. “I would not have you leave.” 

Their faces were close, he could feel Laurens’ breath on his cheek. Alexander closed the distance, and they kissed in the fading light, amongst the golden trees. Both of them were smiling, both finally feeling some release, an end to the pain that had threatened to consume them. It was such that another person was sometimes the only thing needed to save someone in pain. It was such that love was the truest emotion either of them felt, that love, is worth pain. It was such that love could pull someone from the depths. That all Alexander had needed was for Laurens to pull him from his knees. Laurens’ lips were warm against Alexander’s, Laurens’ hand hot against his cheek, the other was tangled in his hair. As they kissed for endless moments. They let the light fade once and for all around them. 

“I love you,” neither knew which one spoke.

**Author's Note:**

> Just... No Plan is the shit... Please listen to it.


End file.
